Science Fiction in all my dreams i DROWN

Elina waited in the kitchen, still completely naked. She had her Cafe Latte in both hands and smiled at Christian as he entered from the shower, wearing only a gown.

He stopped and stared for a moment before looking away. "Maybe you wanna dress." He said.

"Nothing you did not see or enjoy last night I guess." She smiled at him.

"Yes, but ... you irritate me." He sighed, looking to the ground.

"Really?" She smirked.

"And you seem to enjoy it." He added giving her a smile.

Elina laughed a little and took the black silk gown she had positioned nearby. It was rather shot and like everything around here extremely expensive.

"Thanks. I need to get dressed and go to work. My first day." He looked around and decided to get dressed right there putting his shirt and trousers on quickly.

"Sounds like you will have an exciting day." She just commented and he took his coffee. He was insecure what to do now. She made it easy for him and stepped over gently stroking his back.

"You wonder if you will see me ever again, do you?" She whispered. He nodded. "Something like that. It was ... quite a night."

"Yes, it was." She smiled and gave his neck a kiss. A slight tremble went through his body.

"So? Will I?" He asked.

"If that is your wish." She whispered. And her armwrist touched his. "Call me when you got your timetable set."

Christian smiled. "What will you do? Today, I mean?"

Elina sighed and walked over to the couch sitting down. "Read my correspondence, watch the city wake up, muse over the last night and think about what you said, probably. Probably I will wait a little bit more for your call than I like to admit, so please don't keep me waiting more than necessary." She gave him a smile. "Then I have an auction to attend to in the afternoon." She lay her head aside. "I am still free for the evening and night."

Christian grinned while emptying his thermo glass of coffee. "Okay, then I'd say I will try to do something about that."

ooc: I am so sorry, I don't know how this happened but I was a 1000% sure I posted my reply!

Amy Cross Starbucks

She had a simple black coffee and did not know what to say, so she was graceful he began to talk.

"Yes, we were together once. Kinda forgot sometimes we were not anymore ... we ... were a thing." She sighed. "Facebook calls it 'It's complicated', I guess. But we were close. Sort of." She had not touched the coffee yet, only held the cup as if she needed to warm her hands. "I liked Quentin a lot." She finally said. Then she shrugged. "I know you guys were complicated, too. But he ... he talked about you sometimes. I think he was very proud of you." And heart broken he was not proud of him.

"You had an amazing son, Kent. He was one of the good guys. A big child, but one with a good heart and maybe too much curiosity."

When the tension left her, she collapsed against the wall and watched "Sidney" leave. He had got another victim and he had almost got her a second time. Why? How had this happened? What was the connection between her and the woman?

Ray.

What was the connection between the dead woman, Ray and her? She had said she had found "it" and she had been at Ray's apartment. Ray had a package from Quentin Archer and Annie had been digging into Tritec all week, a riddle left by Quentin Archer.

He was killing people who tried to solve the puzzle. The closer they got the higher they probably ended on his list.

So who would be next?

"Oh no." She ripped the mobile out and dialed Ray's number. "Ray, are you at work? This is Annie. Leave, now! Please just do what I say. There was a woman murdered in front of your flat and I am sure the killer is coming for you now!"

Should she call 911 next? First she had to convince him to run. Ray could not die. That would be too much. But what did the woman find? So far there were no cops. Annie stepped back onto the stairs and started running up to the body. "Now! Leave now and then call me on that number!"

The girls spied the haphazardly parked Jeep Escalade, of course, but the large black 4-wheel drive vehicle was so clean and polished that they shaded their eyes from the reflected glare and swept their gazes past it.

"Hello, Ladies."

Both snapped their attentions back towards the car, with Formal noting Cardigan leaning nonchalantly against one of the nearside doors, whilst Gravely peered beyond him and the Jeep SUV, where various decorative features such as blocky concrete flowerpots that came up to their chests, or garden-like areas, were designed to stop or slow down vehicles driven by hostiles.

The scruffy detective must have just manouevred between them to get this close to the front entrance.

They stepped down towards him, as he opened the front and rear passenger doors for them, circling the car towards the driver's seat. "The cute one sits front; I got a rep to lose."

"Kids in the back." The UNCLE agent announced, tossing the bottle of sun lotion onto the centre of the rear seats, then guiding Nicole by the arm to follow it.

"Err, I could be the cute one."

"Pul-lease. You're wearing jeans." Formal slipped both hands under Gravely's armpits and lifted her effortlessly up into the SUV, which seemed to stun the younger woman enough that she just looked back with her mouth agape as Mary reached past her to get her belted safely in. "When we get our own ride, we need to sort you out a booster seat."

"You are saying that to me whilst I am armed" Gravely recovered enough to point out, narrowing her eyes in warning, only to have her door slammed shut in her face, Mary climbing up front next to the Vice detective.

Cadigan pulled away as soon as her bottom touched the cushion of her seat, and it was the vehicle's motion that closed her door, not her, with the British agent bracing her feet into the footwell in order to stay inside and find her own seatbelt as the Escalade negotiated the anti-vehicle street furniture, and bumped them onto the sun-baked black tarmac of the roadway, steering into traffic.

An aggrieved vehicle's strident Meeeeeeeeeep! followed them as they sped away.

For their host's benefit, she concentrated on staying as unruffled as possible, trying hard to convince herself that she had been on worse car rides, and being inside this one was a welcome break from the heat of the day.

"So where are we going?" She asked over her shoulder, as soon as she had her seatbelt safely slotted into the receptacle near her blue-clad hip, and cancelling an audible alarm that she was hearing from the dashboard.

"According to the file, Miss Preston is out at Santa Monica." Nicole reported from the back.

"And where is that when it is at home?" Formal's concern, besides Cadigan getting them into a car wreck as he steered at speed, around the slow-moving, large blocky silhouette of a garbage truck, was that some of those places where the murders had happened, Santa Monica, Culver City, and Korea Town; all sounded like places distinct from the city of Los Angeles. Well, the latter two did, anyway.
Santa Monica sounded like the bikinied white-bearded love child of Santa Claus and that blonde chick out of Friends.

"I'll wiki it now."

"Good girl."

Mary found herself swaying left and right with the momentum of the SUV as Cadigan wound them in and out of traffic, showing disregard for many of the speed signs that lined the roadways, accelerating through red lit intersections to the consternation of other road users.

"I'm Caddy by the way." Their driver announced, his face showing his concentration.

"Mary!" She yelled, loud enough to be heard.

"Gravely. Alright-"

Glancing up into the rear-view mirror, Formal could see the younger woman had her smartphone up before her face, and was looking at it studiously, a hidden finger likely swiping gently at the screen.

"-Santa Monica is on the coast, and is surrounded on all sides by Los Angeles."

"Out-of-towners, huh." Caddy noted. "Thought you didn't sound local. You can just call it L.A."

"Thanks." Gravely acknowledged, well, gravely. "It's surrounded on three sides by L.A. However, it is classed as Los Angeles County. Caddy, does LAPD have jurisdiction there?"

"They have their own Department, SMPD, so we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. However, it shouldn't be a worry, Sandy's place is on the border."

The Armwrist vibrated again and simply declared that the driver was waiting for Christian downstairs.

And when he arrived it was indeed there. A huge Lexus hybrid limousine was waiting and a young Chinese woman in a black suit greeted him.

"I am Sara Wong, Mr. Changs assistant. He will see you now." She obviously talked about Huo "Andy" Chang, the richest man in the world and majority owner of Gamescape. "Please, make yourself comfortable. It is quite a drive at this hour."

She waited dutiful until he was seated and then took her own seat and the car started moving. It was an automated vehicle with the driver sitting in front only in case they planned to turn to manual driving.

"I hope you had a good arrival in Shanghai, Mr. Borg." She politely said, inviting him to small talk without giving him any pressure he had to follow the invitation.

Up there in the Penthouse Elina did not have to wait for long until the voice of her friend and benefactor appeared from nowhere. "A job well done, my dear." Was his only words before he was gone again, leaving her to her own.

They really seem to have plans with me. Christian realized that the night before, but meeting the Chairman, owner and Spiritus rector of Gamescape on his first day brought it to a new level.

"Quite a city." That was all he said to the assistant, not planning to even hint at the rather spectacular second night he just had in Shanghai.

TRITEC, this was all about the mysterious project he had heard so much about and yet knew so little about. What was it? A game? A technology? This was the riddle he had to solve. Maybe Mr. Chang himself would finally reveal what this was all about.

"Despite that. Joint Task Force you know? Makes jurisdiction a mess anyway." Caddy laughed and took a corner. When you thought of Santa Monica you usually thought of beaches and rich people ... this place was nothing like that. Run-down houses and old cars. Caddy drove up to one house which might once have been green. He looked at it and took another chewing gum to his mouth.

"Sandy is alright, but her friend is a dopehead. So Let's hope he isn't there. And she works nightshift ... naturally ... so you might try to be loud when you knock her door." He took put his mobile and began to read. When he realized the two women had notnunderstood the situation he looked at Mary. "What? You think I took you to sightseeing? If I knock at her door she thinks I am here to collect and makes a run for it ... you do your girls thing. If you have trouble with good and bad cop I join as the very bad cop, alright?"

They did not need to knock at all. When they neared the door to the house a dog chained in the garden began to bark and a snarky voice from within called out.

"Come in, I was waiting for you." The voice said. The house stank like something had died there long ago and nobody had ever cared to open the windows to let the smell out. It was chaos, with clothes and used dishes on the floor. In the kitchen they found Sandy at the fridge which was empty. She closed it and yawned. "Blue shirts said you were gonna have questions." She said as she turned around. "Huh, what kinda cop are you?" She asked Mary as she saw her.

"Ignore Adrian." Sandy asked them and took her cup of coffee standing next to her, without offering one to them.

"You are here to ask about the girl, are you? They girl who lived?" She smiled. "I can tell you, but you tell that ahole out there he god-damned owes me, you hear me? And I don't the five Benjamins he took from me last week, also I'd love to see those come back to me if you know what I mean!"

"Sammy is dead? How? Why?" Ray was obviously shocked, but Annie reached him at least. "Okay, I'll leave now. I call you in a moment."

As he killed the line Annie reached the body which had been shot into the chest from behind. The dead eyes of the once beautiful blonde stared to the side. Next to her was her handback and in it Annie found a single folder named "Game Face".

Her mobile rang again and someone screamed, as a overweight neighbor had come out of her flat and saw Annie, with a drawn gun, cowering over a dead blonde. "Mike Call the police!" She shouted, made her way back in at a bizarre slow speed and tried to **** the door.

Andy Chang turned as Christian Borg arrived away from his window and greeted his guest and newest employer with a smile.

"Christian. I was looking forward to meet you. I was actually looking forward to our meeting all week." He slowly walked over and offered his hand. "Welcome to Gamescape. I trust we have treated you well so far?" His handshake was firm and confident, like that of a man who was used to shaking hands.

He gestured to the table at the center of the room and there was a Diet Coke in a glass bottle. Just as Christian preferred it.

"Sam? A double espresso for me, please." He said and the AI began to make his drink somewhere in another part of the Penthouse.

He sat opposite of Christian and gave him a warm smile. "You will have many questions."

Continued...IC: Mary Formal, Nicole Gravely, Run down house, used to be greenBorder of Los Angeles, and Santa Monica
"Oh and where are you girls from, hm?" Caddy asked, now that he had figured out that they were not the PR Department.

"Portland, Oregon." Gravely answered from the back. "I'm down here on a prisoner transfer-"

"-from Cell Block 1138." Mary finished, but low enough that it did not interrupt her partner.
"-but your Captain Winslow called my captain, and arranged to have me seconded to your investigation."

"And I'm an agent with the U.N.C.L.E." Mary put in, "London office." She considered Eddie Murphy's line in Beverly Hills Cop, the memory more than stirred by seeing some familiar location signs as they drove. "I'm here on vacation."

"You were in cuffs when I saw you" Nicole reminded, her tone mildly accusatory.

Mary scoffed. "Oh yeah, agreed! Being able to just walk up to people and and shoot them from point blank range? Plus he told that woman in the disco to go away."

"Disco? How old are you?"

"You have no idea. Just don't volunteer to give me the bumps when my birthday rolls around."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. British tradition."

"For me, I'll wager that the family annihilation in Culver City is at the centre of this, or at least more personal to the suspect. Oh yes!" The Portland detective brightened. "Didn't you have an idea about the murder weapon, Mary?"

"Riiight. While I was on that bench, detectives that passed, talked about it using point-three-two calibre ammunition, which is fairly archaic. But I remembered we had a gun manufacturer called Webley and Scott; used to manufacture revolvers for British Army officers, particularly during the First World War." She put her hand over her shoulder, so that fingers were reaching between hers' and Caddy's seats. "Pass me your phone, so that I can Wiki the company."

"I thought I was research." Nicole reminded.

"You still are. But I know what I am looking for, and you can use the time to top up your sun protection"

After a few moments' hostage negotiation, the phone and lanyard-wrapped badge were passed forward. "You left your shield when you rushed to the lift." Nicole explained.

"Oh, good girl!" Mary commended again, pinching the lanyard between thumb and forefinger, and allowing the badge to spin down between her bare thighs, immediately lifting the lanyard to loop it over her head, then thumbing the internet browser icon on the phone, calling up Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia. Occasionally, she glanced up into the rear-view mirror to check that Gravely was obediently slathering the lotion on properly. "Face, arms, back of the neck, please."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Cool. Oh, here it is." Mary held up the phone to give Caddy, then Nicole, a look at the short-barrelled, wood-handled revolver. To her, it looked like the sort of gun carried by Doctor Watson in the black-and-white Rathbone-starred Sherlock Holmes' films.

"Says the calibre is point-four-five-oh."

"What? They made smaller versions in point-three-eight, and point-three-two. Fun US fact: your President Garfield got shot by this larger type."

They drove in silence for a bit, then:

"How is that a fun fact?"

"You would prefer something, more like, er, what is brown and green, and if it falls out of a tree on top of you, will kill you?"

"Feels more like a joke, than a fun fact, but go ahead. What?"

"A snooker table."

Gravely audibly and visibly smirked, which raised Mary's impression of the child, a few points.

"Despite that." Detective Cadigan interrupted, bringing them back to the case.

A look at the road signage, indicated that they were closing on their destination.

"Did you call ahead?" Gravely wanted to know as her index and forefingers swept a thicker line of suncream across her cheekbones. "Are SMPD meeting us at Sandy's, Detective?"

"Joint Task Force you know? Makes jurisdiction a mess anyway." Caddy laughed and took a corner.

When you thought of Santa Monica you usually thought of beaches and rich people ... this place was nothing like that. Run-down houses and old cars.

Caddy drove up to one house which might once have been green. He looked at it and took another chewing gum to his mouth.

Both girls peered through the windows and windshield towards the rundown abode.

"Sandy is alright, but her friend is a dopehead." He explained. "So Let's hope he isn't there. And she works nightshift ... naturally ... so you might try to be loud when you knock her door."

Undoing her seatbelt, Formal figured that Cadigan knew the lay of the land, and would expect to lead, especially when partnered with two women that he did not know. Instead though, he took out his mobile and bent over it to begin to read.

Surreptitiously, she leaned over to check the back of his neck for tatooed hieroglyphs, and had just determined that he was clean, when as if sensing her interest, he looked up. "What?"

Nicole saved her blushes, leaning forwards with her palms up, fingers and thumbs splayed like a toddler straight after doing some finger-painting. "Wet wipe?" Maybe she was right. Maybe she was the cute one.

"You think I took you to sightsee? If I knock at her door she thinks I am here to collect and makes a run for it ... you do your girls thing. If you have trouble with good and bad cop I join as the very bad cop, alright?"

"So, no wet wipes."

Agent Formal bailed, warning Gravely not to touch anything, moving to open her door as she figured the girl's hands would just be just sliding over the inside handle as she tried to exit.

In moments, they were headed to the house, where a chained dog started barking at them.

Mary glanced towards it as they walked up the path, wondering if it was getting excited because it could sense...her. She found herself biting her bottom lip and forced herself to stop it.

Turned out they did not have to knock, after all, for the front door was already ajar. A snarky voice from within called out.

"Come in, I was waiting for you." The voice said.

Gravely stepped ahead to get to the open door first, but Mary grabbed her arm and physically held the the shorter woman in place whilst she stepped slowly past, so that she could enter first, pausing on the doorstep.

With Sergeant Beckett saying that he had everyone on triple shifts, she had wondered when she would get back to her hotel room to change into something more suitable, but if she was stepping into the noxious bouquet that had hit her nasal senses like a baseball bat, she would probably have to burn these clothes.

She stepped inside, breathing through her mouth.

The house stank like something had died there long ago and nobody had ever cared to open the windows to let the smell out. It was chaos, with clothes and used dishes on the floor. In the kitchen they found Sandy, or at least a female...human(?) at the fridge which was empty.

Thin pale legs went up into a brown long-sleeved fur coat, and when the woman turned, Mary could see that she was wearing it over a baggy black mini-dress. A tie-dyed scarf was wrapped around her waist, adding a bit of colour, and she wore a tiny silver crucifix on a chain.

"Sandra Preston? LAPD." Mary introduced, peering at the woman, assuming that the stench was suppressing the thrill that she had expected to feel with the announcement.

Sandy closed the fridge door and yawned. "Blue shirts said you were gonna have questions." She said as she turned around.

"Yeah, what's that ******* smell?"

"Huh, what kinda cop are you?" She asked Mary as she saw her. Understandable reaction.

"One that wasn't expecting to work today."

"One with a certain sense for style." The voice came from the corner, where a man in a much too expensive suit was sitting and smoking.

Certainly too expensive for the environment.

Mm, a genuine Man in Black. She thought, eyeing him carefully.
If he played his cards right, he could throw his clothes onto the same bonfire that she was going to use.

The British agent peered around, speaking softly to Gravely, who had come level with her right side, one hand up to cover a mouth that was trying to have a reciprocating yawn. "What's a 'blue shirt'?"

"Cops, probably."

"Ignore Adrian." Sandy asked them and took her cup of coffee standing next to her, without offering one to them.

That was perfectly fine by Mary. She would burn this place to the ground before drinking or eating anything from here.

She smiled. "I can tell you, but you tell that ahole out there he god-damned owes me, you hear me? And I don't the five Benjamins he took from me last week, also I'd love to see those come back to me if you know what I mean!"

Both girls stared at her, their minds trying to process her sentence, even though probably only one of them knew what the hell a 'Benjamin' was.

Ahole out there... Formal narrowed her eyes at 'Adrian'. But he's in here. Did she mean 'out out', as in outside? That only left the dog, and...and Caddy.

That reminded her. She glanced down into Gravely's increasingly worried face. "What was he saying about 'collecting' something?"

"****'* sake," Nicole wiped her palms up her jeans, and pulled her gun from her belt holster and turned towards the doorway through which they had entered. "he's corrupt!"

Mary followed the shorter woman's lead, pulling her own to cover the occupants.
"Okay, nobody move."

Also the view and location quite much implied the price of this Penthouse, it had a simplicity that was much more preferable to Christian.

"You have treated me exceptionally well." Christian took the man's hand and tried to hide he was actually quite impressed. Huo Chang was a legend in his business. Maybe among all economics. In gaming and as a leader in the corporate world he had achieved all and the same time remained a human being well respected by his peers and as independent from the not-so-democratic Government of his country.

Christian followed him to the couches and saw the Coke Light there in the glass bottle. It was called Diet Coke of course, as the world outside Europe preferred to call it. They obviously had studied him intimately. He stared at the glass bottle for a second and then sat down. Mr. Chang invited him to ask any questions.

"Well, I got a few. About my job and this mysterious project that is unknown under the monicker "TRITEC", but really? Why me? What do you expect from me?" He shrugged. "All of this seems to be a bit too much for a guy like me."

Mr. Chang looked at him and then he smiled. "Do you wanna know my secret? Maybe it answers many of your secrets to learn how I got all of this!" He spread his hands.

Christian breathed in and nodded.

"Game theory. As a guy who programs games I could do little else but study any science called that. There I learned about the hot-hand-fallacy. Everybody thinks a guy who shot five goals at a championship will strike a sixth time. Because he got a run. Because there is some magic involved. I think we humans just have to believe in something, or we ain't never gonna make a decision. The theory has been shown to be wrong though. Take out every insecurity and the candidate does not have a better or worse chance to succeed again no matter what happened before. What does that mean? It basically means we have no idea what is the outcome. We got no idea at all. So in what could I believe to make a decision?" Huo shrugged and looked at Christian. Christian have it some thought. These high end mind-games might have been the daily bread of any successful corporate leader, but they seemed a bit out of his league.

Christian finally answered. "Well, any performance is relying on a million factors. Even today with the flow of data generated by our AI system, we know little about most of them. So you gotta take a risk. Make the choice with the least risk." Huo smiled.

"Exactly my thinking when I was 25." He stood up as a robot rolled in bringing his espresso. He took it and the small robot rolled out again. "Totally wrong, I found out. Two times I filed for bankruptcy." He laughed. "No, least risk is usually meaning least innovation and potential." He leaned forward.

"After this idea almost destroying me, I waved it farewell and turned to a different approach." He took a sip of his double espresso and sat down. "Potential. If there is no security, frak the odds. I always bet on the biggest potential." He raised his brows. "I loose most of the bets, but who cares. When I win, I win big." He spread his arms to present the proof of how monumental his victories had been.

"So you believe I might fail, but in my success lies potential?" Christian smiled. "That is probably the least flattering compliment ever." He said and finally took his Diet Coke, wondering if the man on the other side was in his own way insane. Too brilliant you might call it for a man that successful.

Huo looked at him. "The DIL. Remember that?" He Thema asked and Christian had to fight to keep his Coke in his mouth. "Sure." He finally said.

Huo laughed at him and leaned forward. "Tell me about it." He winked.

"That is something I made up ... eight years ago. I was still a kid in many ways." He said.

Huo raised his brows. "Oh, really? Direct Interface Link. Neurology and software, reading brainwaves in real time by setting standards to configurate a self-learning AI. Basically we get transported into games and experience them as reality. Games? You said yourself, that the uses for space travel, military or medicine might be limitless. Training of employees! That alone would be a billion dollar market. Really. That idea had potential ..." Huo smiled. "Everything else you ever did or thought right after this idea was mediocre." He shrugged. "Also the execution of everything you did was flawless."

Christian stared at the man and then cried. "DIL does not work, because nobody ever cracked neurology to the point we can read the signals into something we might use to create a reliable matrix of the functions." He laughed. "That and another million problems."

Huo nodded. "Sure. I got the algo that makes brain scans possible. So that is the big one. Will you do me the favor and get rid of the other 999.999 problems?" Huo smiled.

"Is that TRITEC?" Christian asked and leaned forward.

"Part of it, yes." Huo said and folded his arms. Christian looked at him.

He had to laugh. But in his laughter he nodded. "You are right, Mr. Chang. If you got that technology ... DIL is not entirely impossible to create anymore. Can we do it? Probably not. We will have problems we cannot even foresee right now. But the potential of it ... it is so great ... it is worth a try." He smiled. Huo smiled back. "You hired me to do that? Make an old theory of mine into a workable prototype?"

The Chinese just smiled. A smile that seemed more like a confirmation than a denial. A smile that kept his secrets well guarded without denying they existed either.

"So what will you need?" Huo asked and he felt the boy had understood him. He just wished he had slept at least an hour or two last night.

He had expected anything, but this. DIL. An ancient concept he felt ashamed about years later. A childish dream to dive right into a game, experiencing it first hand. He smiled. The question was a good one. What did he need?

"I need a mainframe able to handle the project and someone to admin the data flow. A data base expert, a good access point and ... I need something to test it on."

He smiled. A dream came true. The richest men in the world had just given him they means to follow his most ambitious dream.

"I need access to the software that handles the neurology part and we need to take care of the graphics. I actually played around with some data nodes in 2022, I guess I can start from there."

He emptied his Diet Coke and smiled. "And a few boxes of those." He nodded. "Best way to have a Coke Light. But I guess you knew that already, do you?"

Cardigan was still sitting outside in his car, typing into his mobile. He seemed to wait patiently for the interrogation to be over.

Sandy hissed in frustration. "He is Vice! Of course he is dirty!" She shouted out and then took cover. Outside another car stopped next to Cardigan's. Another SUV and two of his men stepped out. Both wearing vests and one of them holding a shotgun.

In the kitchen Adrian emptied his cup of coffee. Remaining perfectly calm as around him nobody else did.

She had a simple black coffee and did not know what to say, so she was graceful he began to talk.

"Yes, we were together once. Kinda forgot sometimes we were not anymore ... we ... were a thing." She sighed. "Facebook calls it 'It's complicated', I guess. But we were close. Sort of." She had not touched the coffee yet, only held the cup as if she needed to warm her hands. "I liked Quentin a lot." She finally said. Then she shrugged. "I know you guys were complicated, too. But he ... he talked about you sometimes. I think he was very proud of you." And heart broken he was not proud of him.

"You had an amazing son, Kent. He was one of the good guys. A big child, but one with a good heart and maybe too much curiosity."

Kent exhaled heavily through his nose and averted his gaze, seemingly content to busy himself with the coffee cup he now shuffled back and forth between his hands. The conversation had turned awkward, not just because of the painful memories it conjured, but it appeared as if he was prying too deeply into her personal affairs. He felt embarrassed for her...and himself. What she had shared with Quentin...maybe it was better left unsaid.

But isn’t this what he wanted? Didn’t he want to find answers?

With a quiet scoff, he shook his head slowly. “I guess in hindsight, it’s easy to see,” he muttered softly, one corner of his mouth lifting into a grim smile, “but I’ve never understood his obsession. I thought it was naive and foolish, that he should apply himself to something more…practical.” He sat back, his smile turning bitter. “It’s funny how the world works sometimes.”

Inwardly wincing at the sudden rush of emotion, he hastily reached into his jacket and produced the photograph he had discovered in Quentin’s apartment. “I found this.” He placed it carefully on the table between them, almost hesitant to let it go. “I thought...that you might like to have it.”

She took the picture and looked at it. Amy had to smile about the gesture. "He send it to me over whatsapp. That one and twenty more. Was a weekend in Santa Barbara. A resort. Was a fantastic weekend." She smiled and then gave it back to Kent. "I probably got more pics of your son than you have." She really did not know what to say. Finally she told Kent the truth.

"You two would have ... you would have made your peace, you know? Quentin knew that, too. He told me how you belittled his business. But really, Social Media and Gaming are the fastest growing business models of the last decade. He was always planning of make you see one day that he was part of a billion dollar industry and that he was actually making a real living through hard work." She shrugged. "He always said next Christmas or on your next birthday ... never did he consider he was short on time." Amy sighed.

Pressing his lips together, Kent lowered his chin and focused his gaze back on the photograph, intent on losing himself. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to believe her words, but the smiling young man in the image apparently told another story. Amy had witnessed that side of him first hand, had embraced it and allowed it to grow. That realization stung more than it should have. Where did that leave him? He had been too damn proud to see and understand what was going on.

And now it was too late.

He recoiled at that thought and placed his hand flat against the photograph to hide the painful memories. The other came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Mr. Archer, ... Kent. I don't know how to say this in any other way. I can only hope it does not cause you grief. I do not believe it was suicide." She shook her head. "His final post has become legendary by now. WHAT IS TRITEC?" She looked around to make sure nobody was listening. "Whatever this means, I believe it got him killed."

Slowly, Kent glanced up and studied Amy with furrowed brow, his expression surprisingly calm. While he had known the truth all along, it felt as if a great pressure had lifted from his shoulders to hear a similar opinion from the woman who had arguably been closest to Quentin for the past several months. She also suspected foul play, all of it centered around the strange slogan that had spurred the current media frenzy; the same slogan he had found stashed away in his apartment – TRITEC.

“That’s...why I’m here, in L.A.,” he confessed with a slow nod, his hand instinctively going to the spot where the printouts rested against his chest. “Something felt wrong, even with our problems, it didn’t sound like Quentin to simply give himself up...I just--I needed to know.”

He leaned forward against the table, taking note how she hesitated when she mentioned the name. Did she think they were in danger? “I actually found some references to Tritec in his apartment,” he continued in a hushed tone to match her caution. “Printouts, really. All scrawled with simple messages. One was Tritec. The others?” He shrugged, obviously at a loss. “Well...I’ll let you take a look for yourself.”

Slipping his hand back into his jacket, he produced the stack of papers and slid them across the table with some reluctance. “Does Gameface or Adrian Morrel mean anything to you?”

Amy leaned forward and had to laugh.

"I know Adrian, of course. But I don't think he is God. Maybe that is a short or an Internet alias? Something like God of Gaming? Guys call themselves such things. And I know Quentin had a date with Gameface. He asked me to join. Some gaming tech company fundraising right now. They wanted Quentin to write about them." She took out her mobile and frowned. "Today. In an hour they wanted to meet at Pasadena. You think they got anything to do with Tritec?"

Kent ran a hand over his jaw and reclined back against the chair, his brow furrowed with thought. At first glance, it all seemed to make sense – Quentin had become rather famous among popular gaming circles, it wasn’t unusual for some hi-tech company to reach out to him for exposure. They were probably trying to ride on the wings of his son’s success to build their own name in the business.

But was that their only motivation? Had Quentin aligned himself with the wrong people?

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he scoffed with a small shake of his head. He then extended a hand to point to the stack of print-outs. “But he did make reference to them in the same file. It’s worth a shot.”

Raising his brow, Kent studied Amy curiously. “You said that you managed most of his social engagements?” He checked his watch. “Do you think you could still make that appointment as an associate of his? I know I’m asking a lot, but I can tell you want answers almost as much as I do. I can assist, if you want.”

She looked at him. "According to Quentin you got money. I mean, if they check you out they find money, right? They are looking for investors. I tell them Quentin told you about them and they will be more than eager to meet you. I know they were bleeding money."

Amy smiled. "And it is not so much I want answers. I need them. I don't think I can live without knowing."

The girl, Sandra Preston, hissed, shouted, "He is Vice! Of course he is dirty!" And dove for cover.

"What do you mean, 'he's Vice; of course he is dirty'?" Agent Formal protested indignantly, glowering at Preston's, well, cover. "That's not how it works! Haven't you watched Miami Vice?" She referred to the iconic Eighties television cop drama, and of which she was a massive fan, to the point that the pistol that she now wielded, the Bren Ten, had been made famous by that show.

She swung the gun to cover the room-mate, who was calmly finishing whatever had been in his own cup. He didn't look like a threat, but she was ready just the same.

Mary had heard the acronym before, but in the tension, her mind blanked, and she frowned in confusion. "Eee-yah?" She hazarded to the back of her charge's neck.

"Internal Affairs!"

She nodded, feeling the silent pause that stretched around them. Now that their guns were drawn, ready to meet an immediate threat, which at least, did not appear to have materialised, time for the next step.

"Sweetie?"

There was no response from the diminutive redhead, who was returned her concentration to the open front door.

"Sweetie?"

The repeated enquiry was ignored as well, so, impatient with youngsters at the best of times, she stepped to one side enough to give herself room, took her right hand off her Bren, and swatted Nicole across the back of her jeans.

"OW!" Gravely jumped, shooting a glare back up at her, before turning back to the front, with her double-handed grip on her Glock, still aimed towards the visible grass outside. "You really are not afraid of getting shot, are you?"

"Well answer me when I'm talking to you?"

"You could have been talking to Preston!"

Mary kept an eye and her gun swinging between Adrian and where she had last seen Sandra, as kept up her side of the bicker. "And why would I be calling her 'sweetie'? I've literally only just met her."

"You've only just met me!"

"Look-" Formal paused, counting to ten quickly, so as not to give the girl a chance to ask what she was supposed to look at. "-you are far too exposed from the street. Get down low, and go to the window so you can see out." Looking back at Adrian, and the faded paisley-patterned fabric of the sofa, she listened as Gravely quickly left her and scuttled back into the hallway just inside the doorway, sitting with crossed legs on bare detritus-strewn floorboards under a grimy-stained window with dirty net curtains.

She manouvered to look through a lower corner of the pane, whilst not giving a target to anyone outside.

"Cadigan hasn't moved." Her voice reported.

Formal raised an interested eyebrow as she divided attention between the Sandy's sofa, and over her right shoulder towards the young detective. "Really?!"

"Still in the SUV. I can see him up front, still, like he said he would be if we didn't need a..., a badder cop."

"Keep watching."

"Right."

Looking back towards Adrian and the settee, Mary took her left hand off the gun, and showed a placating palm towards the suspects, while slowly lowereing the Bren Ten so that it faced the floor, whilst at the same time, "I'm holstering my weapon. It is possible that we over-reacted. You admitting that he's dirty-"

"-coupled with this place smelling like a ******* crime scene-"

"-we thought Cadigan might have set us up to get shot, to keep his corruption secret." The UNCLE agent slid her gun into the holster on her thigh, but kept the safety off, in case this was the mistake, and they had been right all along. "If we can start again, tell us what you know about the Sidney survivor, including why you think she got targeted, and where we can find her."

"Aw, crap!"

Mary cocked her head at this heartfelt blurt from the window. "Is he coming?"

"No, another car has just arrived."

"Well, let's hope it is just an estate agent." Mary used the British term for people who sold houses.

"Huh?"

"Oh right, you don't call them that here. Remember that poor family in the Poltergeist movie? What do you call those people who sold them the home, and didn't tell them that it sat atop an Indian burial ground?"

"Ass hats?"

"Close enough."

Gravely uncrossed her legs, and tucked her calves under herself to enable to her to boost up into a better viewing angle. "Looks like a couple of Cadigan's boys. They're exiting the vehicle, wearing vests, and one is carrying a shotgun."

Formal refused to jump to conclusions this time. This could still be a trap, but also, and probably more likely, maybe the LAPD officers were loaded for bear in case the questioning proved fruitful, and they got a line on this Sidney character. "Sandra, the sooner you talk to us, the sooner we are out of your hair." She implored.

Elina spend most of her morning staring at the picture and thinking about what Christian had seen in it.

She knew it was not good he had crawled into her head. Not good at all. It was her task to crawl into his. But making that connection probably allowed the transfer of thoughts into both directions.

When she finally broke the spell she dressed casually and made her way to the garage where her driver awaited her. She read her messages, replied to some and had him drive her to the market. She would try to bring her dawning relationship with the boy to a more personal level. Luxury did not work on him and most men considered her to be an exquisite luxury. With him she had to downsize things. She needed a human connection.

She would cook for him. Her AI would help her hopefully. But she was actually an okay cook. There had been a life before restaurants and high end delivery services.

"The boy who will be king." The voice came from right behind her as she was inspecting a pumpkin at one of the traders on the giant and over-crowded market.

"Do we know each other?" Elina wanted to turn and felt the hands on her hips keeping her from doing so.

"Sure. But you would not remember." The voice said. A man's voice. Hard to determine the age. "Don't turn around. I would have to leave and you want to know what I gotta say."

Elina did not feel comfortable with this. She felt threatened. How could someone have found her here? It had been a random decision to come here. "Take your hands off me." She hissed and her eyes fell on her armwrist. Tracking software perhaps?

"Sure." The hands vanished. "Not your type? I did not know a woman like you can afford to have one." The mocking grin was pretty clearly present in his words. She smelled his breath. Cigars. She knew the brand. Cuban.

"You thing you got me figured out? I got a reputation for making that hard for men." She said and tried to win time while she tried to remember what cigar this was.

"The game has begun and you have become an important piece. They are meeting right now. Your two friends. Your old one and your new one." The voice said. This was now guessing or this man was incredibly well informed.

"Okay. Sure. Why wouldn't they?" She asked.

"You think you know what this is about, but really you don't. This isn't about games or money. It isn't even about business or power or art." The voice came closer now.

"What is it about?" She felt herself breathing more heavy.

"Reality. Some revelations change not the perception of people. Some ideas change reality itself." The voice said.

"Sounds like an idea worth having." Elina answered.

"Depends on the change, I'd say." The voice answered. "You lead the boy down the rabbit hole, but you have no idea what awaits him down there." The voice said.

"Maybe. But I trust the one who build the hole." She answered. "And who are you that I trust you?"

The voice was silent for a moment. "Why don't you ask Annie about it, hm?"

"How do you know about Annie?" She turned her head half. There was no answer. Finally she pushed herself around and there was nobody there. It was as if this had been an illusion.

ooc: So let me be frank, I know you got a hard time with the game right now @Lawbreaker, which is no surprise considering how ambitious it is. You would not believe how much I can sympathize with that right now. Please see the update below from @DarkLordoftheFins and me as a clear sign of our dedication from us that we are committed to the game.

Christian and The Enigma His fancy new flat

Elina had so far performed with an efficiency she was not sure about. Did she love or hate herself for how perfectly she had woven a web to lure the little bug in? Maybe both. That was the tension she lived on, was it? She was just so incredibly effective in being a hypocrite.

It was the hard part she was now facing and with growing terror she realized she was failing miserably.

In front of her sat Christian, right here in his luxurious new flat full of tech gadgets. He looked more like a stranger to this than she did. It was not THE Penthouse she had used to stage her seduction, but this flat was beyond what 99,5% of Shanghai's residents could afford.

Christian sat there and ate the food and there it was. Awkward silence. After her perfect opening, she failed at the game itself.

The Club had been easy. She knew the effect on men she had. She knew the beauty she was and she knew all about him. The art-thing had been a hunch. Shallow one-night-stands did not satisfy his appetite for elaborate intellectual experience. Foreplay had to stimulate the other parts of the brain.

She was very sure about the bedroom. He had enjoyed it. She was skilled and knew very view boundaries in that regard.

Then the nudity and funny intimacy at the morning, hinting that there was more than a random sexual encounter. The bait, the bite ...

But she was the Enigma, the embodiment and symbol for being desired. She knew the game. Now she was in a total different arena. Jeans and a shirt and red wine. This was about him, this was about her. Real her. She was not even sure there was anything left like a real her.

"I am terrible at this, am I?" Elina laughed and tried to at least break the ice by admiring her failure.

Christian looked at her. He lay his head aside. "You got stuff on your mind." He then said. Indeed she had. The man on the market was a considerable annoyance when it came to concentrating. "I do, too. So we sit here and eat and think. That is not terrible in any way."

Elina smiled. He was a gentle soul. "Yeah, but I am here not to think and truly not for the food ..."

Christian looked at her. "Why are you here?" He asked. He was not entirely clear what that kind of woman wanted from a man line him.

She sighed and gave him a smile. He nodded.

"Okay, stupid question. But this is perfect, don't you see?" He spread his arms. "Stuff is going on. We are both distracted. You wanna know if there is anything beyond very ... very very animalic nights between the sheets?" He laughed. "If we turn out talking about it, something is there. If we don't waste your time on me." He smiled.

"You are kinda hard to predict. You are a boy and you are an old wise man. How can you be both?" Elina leaned forward. She took the red wine.

"Faking both so long it no longer is a fake." He smiled. "Really? I still feel like faking being an adult."

"We all do." She said and laughed. She genuinely laughed. He looked at her as if he captured her and she could not keep eye contact.

"Okay, I learned today I am here to do something I had given up on. They want a technological miracle and funny enough we might make that happen. Then I got a bureau, an unlimited budget and I met a guy ... nice guy. Quentin something. He asked me a question that I feel was very strange. But also clever."

Elina raised her brow and looked at him taking a sip from her red wine as she crossed her long legs and leaned forward.

"He asked: Christian, have you ever looked into a mirror and wondered if you are the mirror or the one looking into it?" Christian shrugged. "Sounds like pseudo-mystic. I told him, doesn't matter. The mirror is a precise copy of what I am, so I am always both. He laughed and showed me a mirror. He said, 'That is the thing, Christian. It is not.' And that was it."

Elina shook her head. "But it is! Is it?"

"No, he is right. The sides are reversed in a mirror. It actually is more like the opposite of you." Christian shook his head.

Elina leaned back. "So are we the reversed ones or are we the original ones? Uh. Probably better not to think too deeply about it."

Christian. "Yeah, probably. But what kind of intro is that for a publicist? A guy doing PR work. And why did I meet him. My project is secret beyond top secret. So why do I meet a PR guy at all? Meeting was also not scheduled, he dropped by and said hello."

"Can you do the miracle?" Elina asked now. She was done eating and put her sticks aside. Christian shrugged again.

"No idea. He asked me to find the new world. I can pack my ship and hire my crew and set sails. But you never know if you are ever gonna fight it!" Christian laughed. "You never know."

"Who asked you?" Elina knew the answer already.

"The richest man in the world did. The Boss himself. I kept on wondering all day ... am I that good?" Christian now took his wine and smiled.

"You think you know better than him?" Elina asked. "I hear he is an impressive man."

"To the couch." He said. Elina was surprised. Christian saw it. "I know ... but you know what? I feel like talking. Sorry if that is strange ..."

Elina shook her head. "Sounds good. Tell you what? It is great, not strange." She laughed at him and folded her hands. Then she stood up and took the wi e and extended her hand.

"How do you feel about all this? Tell me what goes on in your mind." She said. She knew this had turned from failure into triumph and it had been him turning the tide. She could not help like adore him for that. It was a shame this was what it was.

"Overwhelmed." He said and toon her hand. "The job, the challenge, the money, you ... honestly?"

"Always."

"It is all a bit too good to be true. There is something about to go wrong." He said.

Mary Formal was tempted to go to her, grab her by the back of the head, and ram her face into the sofa until she began to be a bit more cooperative, but this prostitute was Cadigan's girl.

He had said what to do if they could not get answers.

She pointed a finger at the bloke in the suit. "Stay."

She looked over her shoulder, and started backing towards the front of the hovel. "Alright Sandra, you asked for it. If you are not going to co-operate, we'll have to bring your pimp in here."

As she drew level with the open front door, Gravely whispered up to her. "What're you doing?"

"Relax, it'll be fine. Cover Agents Jay and Elle, will you?" She gestured inside, waiting for the younger woman to shift her sitting position so that she was facing towards Adrian and Sandra, then faced outside herself.

Nicole discovered that she only had line-of-sight on the seated male.
"Where's Sandy?"

"Behind the settee."

"She could have anything behind there; a shotgun, anything!"

"You think she would have paid off the detective if she was armed?"

Nicole looked incredulously up at her. "Well yeah, shooting cops is generally considered a bad idea."

"Well, this is my day for them." Mary took a deep breath, then stepped out into the fresh air, yelling towards their SUV. "Cadigan! You're up!"

Sandra looked at the woman and then looked to the coffee drinking man in the corner. Finally she sighed.

"Asian girl. She hangs out with people on parties. I think she is called Anne or Annie or something. Pink hair. Not hard to spot, hard to oversee. Really Hoodie. I saw her on the street and was worried she was getting into the business you know? Hang out there. But then she just met a friend. John Holmes, a local ... he sells things he finds ... you know? Or other people find it. Maybe sometimes where they should not have been looking. He got her a coffee. Inwas relived and then he was there. Young dude. Blonde. Blue Hoodie. Cheap one. Dragged a gun right in front of her and shot. Man, I have no idea how he could kiss her at the distance. He was not farther way than three feet or something. Fired and everyone was totally silent. Then she turned and ran. I felt he was totally irritated. Turned and ran. Police. All that. No idea why he targeted her. Seemed totally random. But ..." She sighed. "When I recalled this I was wondering why he did not target her companion. He could have easily killed both, but he did not. He only shot at her. Bamm, bamm ... and she was standing there. Pretty much like he had used blanks or something."

A moment after Formal called for Cadigan, Gravely called for her, saying to come back inside, as Sandra was now talking.

The British woman was unsure why stepping outside had prompted Sandy to now spill her guts, maybe she had abandonment issues. This was not shaping up to be Sandra's lucky day, as she planned to abandon the uncooperative bint at the first opportunity.

Turning back, she stared impassively at Sandra as the woman continued speaking, making no attempt to listen to her. Her secret was that upon drawing level with the cross-legged sergeant, subtle movement from down there had caught her eye, and checking it out, she had spotted the girl not only holding her mobile phone out in Sandy's direction, but there was a graph bouncing away on the small screen, telling her that Nicole was audio-recording the witness statement.

Clever girl!
When the words dried up, Nicole asked if Sandra was finished, and at the girl's nod, the Portland detective thumbed the square 'Stop' button graphic. "Got a recording of that."

"Good girl." Mary acknowledged grimly. "We will listen to it on the walk to the nearest cab office." She looked at the disheveled hooker. "Is there any way that you can tell us where the nearest taxi place is, without me threatening to step outside again."

"Don't worry," Nicole advised from the floor. "I can call us an Uber."

"Please do that. Meanwhile, I'll look around for some kindling and a fuel source."

* * * *

Standing outside, facing Cadigan's SUV, huddled together close enough to hear the recording on the phone in the redhead's hand:

"Asian girl. She hangs out with people on parties. I think she is called Anne or Annie or something. Pink hair. Not hard to spot, hard to oversee. Really Hoodie. I saw her on the street and was worried she was getting into the business you know? Hang out there. But then she just met a friend. John Holmes, a local ... he sells things he finds ... you know? Or other people find it. Maybe sometimes where they should not have been looking. He got her a coffee. I was relived and then he was there. Young dude. Blonde. Blue Hoodie. Cheap one. Dragged a gun right in front of her and shot. Man, I have no idea how he could kiss her at the distance. He was not farther way than three feet or something."

Nicole stopped the playback a bit short of completion, looking up at the taller blonde woman. "Where Sandra says, 'no idea how he could kiss her at the distance', you know what I'm thinking?"

"We're looking for Cerebus the Aardark?" Mary referred to the graphic novel character created by Canadian cartoonist, David Sim. Four-foot tall, anthropomorphic anteater with a sword. Some years before the internet, she had paid for three hefty 300-page graphic novels to be sent from the UK to an orphanage in Romania where she had once worked. Not cheap.

"No!" Nicole micro-shook her head, her copper tresses swishing ever so slightly. "I think she meant 'miss'. As in 'no idea how he could miss her at the distance'."

"She said 'kiss'."

"Probably dyslexic."

Now it was Formal's turn to frown. "I'm no doctor, but doesn't dyslexia affect the written word? Not stuff you say aloud?"

They shrugged at each other.

With both girls momentarily at an impasse, Mary felt like conceding first. "Okay, even for Cerebus, three feet is still a bit of a stretch. You could be right; she might have meant 'miss'. Seems unlikely, but perhaps living in that stink does something to the brain. Play the rest of the recording, please."

There was some fumbling as the phone had taken the opportunity to power down. So Nicole had to reactivate it, put in her pin.

"Fired and everyone was totally silent." The quiet but recognisable voice continued. "Then she turned and ran. I felt he was totally irritated. Turned and ran. Police. All that. No idea why he targeted her. Seemed totally random. But ..." Sandy's voice sighed. "When I recalled this I was wondering why he did not target her companion. He could have easily killed both, but he did not. He only shot at her. Bamm, bamm ... and she was standing there. Pretty much like he had used blanks or something."

The self-styled UNCLE agent straightened at this last bit, staring unfocused over Nicole's head. "Holy **** snacks!" She affected the high-pitched nasal tone of the Archer' cartoon character whose catchline that was. Her voice returned to normal as she looked down at Gravely. "Getting her to use her words might be like pulling teeth, but I think she's onto something. I think there were blanks in the gun, but the suspect did not expect there to be any."

"But if he loaded the gun himself, wouldn't he know-"

"What is Los Angeles known for?"

Gravely had already holstered her GLock, so had a free hand to make into a fist that she could open fingers for each of her answers, starting with her forefinger. "Murders. Gang violence. There's an apparent water crisis."

"Film studios." Mary interrupted firmly. "Hollywood. Film sets will have armouries, and they don't use live ammunition on set."

Gravely nodded energetically, eyes brightening as she thought this through. "And it would explain how there is still one of your Webleys still in circulation."

"How long till the Uber gets here?"

Nicole advised four minutes, and said that she had an app that would show their ride's progress on a small map of local roads.

"Stay here, wait for our ride, and meet the car as soon as it gets here. I will update Cadigan." Mary trotted steadily across the lawn towards their LAPD colleagues. "Detectives, your girl described the survivor and the shooter, but I think she hit on something more important. When the shooter targeted this 'Asian' girl, Anne or Annie, and missed her from a few feet away; it sounds more like the intended murder weapon was unexpectedly loaded with blanks. What's the easiest way to contact the film studios that you have in town, and have them check their own stocks of prop guns? If a Webley comes up missing, we want to know?"

She gave Cadigan and his men a chance to respond, however if the cab that they had called, arrived first, she planned to get in and head back to her hotel.

Today was the day I wanted to resume business, I had a carefully drafted wonderful update written ... and then my computer died. Just dead. Nothing happening anymore.

Maybe this game is cursed?

Anyway, I guess I have to postpone, just wanted to let people know I was ready to make good on my promise and this is certainly no excuse ... I just got nothing to post right now and if I can save my faithful old Acer I might have to write it anew.

ooc: A very reduced version of my original post ... but to get things going again ...

2019​

Gameface Headquarters

The "headquarters" looked pretty much like a garage. A huge garage for a private one with loads of technical stuff included and s large couch in it's center.

Gameface were three guys in their late twenties wearing hoodies and enthusiasm on their face. Their presenter was their "CEO" himself, Robert Mandelson, a slightly chubby guy in a red dress who had an undeniable boyish charm. He had been the one inviting Kent and Amy right away when she seemed to hint there was money involved. So Kent ended up on the sofa, next to a Chinese looking man in his late twenties. With his hoodie and jeans that Chinese they called Andy seemed like a fit for the room, but Kent probably saw the signs appearances might be deceiving. A Rolex Daytona watch and Italian handmade shoes betrayed he was probably wealthy enough to not care about appearances.

Amy was asked to be "part of the presentation" and took her position in the center of the whole technical build-up on a simple chair right in front of an apparatus which looked like a massive strange high tech lamp.

"So I promised we would deliver a game changer to the problem of player immersion and you probably have a lot of doubts. But you know what? Let me present you what we got. Okay?" He nodded to his Indian friend and he began typing into his laptop.

Andy leaned over to Kent then and offered his hands. "Mr. Archer, right? The resemblance is striking. I am deeply sorry for your loss. I met Quentin only briefly but he was a fine young man."

Cardigan nodded. "We can check the studios. We start with the big ones. Around twenty and we look for the gun." He looked at the two female investigators. "So Sandy was her charming self? Did she actually give you anything useful?"

One of his guys, a young Latino, stepped to them and greeted the women with a nod. "Another body. Two blocks from here. Witnesses say we might got a witness this time around. Asian with pink hair." He told his Boss.

Cardigan sighed. "Okay, locals handle that probably. Early in the day we will have a few of those."

"What the hell has happened! Meet me where we kissed yesterday!" The message was on her mailbox and it was actually a terrible idea Ray had there.

The Los Angeles Street Art Festival was running and the beach was one of their "street markets". Hundreds of people were there. Thousands. Hipsters, Art wanna-bes and actual artists, tourists, random by-passers, collectors ... and no sign of Ray. He was probably somewhere among the crowd.

But Annie saw someone else among the crowd. A man in a grey hoodie, a man she had seen half an hour ago ... his one hand inside the sweater, his face hidden under the hood.

"Met him once or twice." She answered and drew Chris closer to her naked body.

But Christian forget nothing, ever. Nothing like this. Elina left in the morning and he had his AI prepare coffee while making a web search. Andy Chang & Art.

The man was a collector, no surprise at all. He had spend billions on the market. Modern art especially. Quickly Christian browsed through the pictures ... and there it was. "Angry man by Philip Forel", acquired for 10 million in 2023. The picture was Andy Chang's. So was probably the penthouse he had seen it in. Chang owned several penthouses according to the web. Another search revealed that part.

Christian leaned back and felt irritation. Was he sleeping with the mistress of his Boss? Maybe the former lover. If so could it be coincidence?

Suddenly he felt uncomfortable with this armwrist and this flat and all of the things he was granted. He felt watched. He felt also as if he had to consider his affair with the mysterious beauty.

With these thoughts he got ready for work and took the elevator to his personal shuttle service.

The development center of Gamescape was secured like a military facility. Armed guards and multiple security gates had to be passed before getting to the building. There Christian was welcomed by a young Chinese woman, who was the "Onboarding Officer" according to her name-tag. The AI had set up the meeting. She explained the building and levels of access. Christian was cleared for Level 2, but had additional access to "special dev", which included three projects including Project Tritec. The latter was Christians division and over a three hundred people were working there, making it the biggest of all dev units.

Patiently she explained how data was secured and isolated in a special cloud ran from the building itself, again secured by an AI which would provide Christian with all necessary access. Phone capabilities were limited in the building. All recording functions were **** down upon entering the building and no data transfer to the outside was permitted or ... as far as Christian could see ... possible.

Finally he was lead to the 14th floor, where hundreds of programmers were sitting at their personal work stations.

Christian had his own and as they arrived to men where arriving, informed of his arrival without a doubt by their AI ports.

One was Jack Burns, looking tired and now wearing a shirt with the Gamescape logo. The other man was older and wearing a suit. He smiled and approached Christian with an extended hand, skipping the usual rituals of Asian business life and presenting his more personal approach with confidence.

"Jack Wong, I am the CTO of Tritec. Welcome to the fortress, Christian. You prefer Christian or Chris?" He pointed to Burns. "You two know each other I believe. Well, we are very excited to have you Christian. As you will see we got your workstation up to speed already. But maybe we should grab a coffee? I am sure you got questions." Jack nodded only and then walked away. Feeling he had done his greeting duties obviously.

Cardigan nodded. "We can check the studios. We start with the big ones."

This was going well. No-one had tried to shoot her yet.

Formal knew from experience that she could take a round from a musket, so arbitrarily decided not to worry about Cadigan and at least one of his men. No, if things went crazy, she'd have to take down the cop with the shotgun first. The force of a shotgun blast to her centre mass, could leave her unable to assist the Portland detective.

"Around twenty and we look for the gun." He looked at Mary, then past her, at Nicole. "So Sandy was her charming self? Did she actually give you anything useful?"

"The survivor, is Asian and has pink hair, which hopefully is as rare as it sounds." She had been around enough Americans, and seen enough of their television by now, to know what they meant by 'Asian', as the term referred to a completely different race of people, back in Britain. "Sandy says Anne or Annie is 'really hoodie', but I don't know what that means. Wherever Sandy plys her trade, there should be a guy called John Holmes, local who sells stolen goods. Could be a friend of Anne's. She says he bought Anne a coffee. Also, our shooter is a young blonde fellow. Wears a blue hoodie. A cheap one." A frown crossed her face. "Did Sandy used to work in a clothes shop? She seems to know quite a bit about hoodies."

Internally, Mary began to consider that for a scummy-looking, low-life street-walker, Sandy knowing that Annie attended parties, and judging hoodies like Australians compared 'coldies' (beers), seemed, well, out of place.

One of the junior Vice detectives, a young Latino, stepped to them and greeted Mary with a nod. "Another body. Two blocks from here. Witnesses say we might got a witness this time around. Asian with pink hair." He told his Boss.

Mary glanced at the second vice cop. "Pink hair. Could be our girl."

Cardigan sighed. "Okay, locals handle that probably. Early in the day we will have a few of those."

This brought her back to the Big Picture. She had been getting too close, necessarily of course, in order to puzzle some of this out. She had forgotten though, this shooter was dropping bodies all over two cities, three if you counted Culver. That was why she and Gravely had been drafted.

"Gravely and I are going to be popping back to my hotel." She revealed. "I need to change into something a little more suitable. If you can give us the address for one of those studios, we will head there afterwards." Turning to look back across the grass towards Gravely, she called, "Nikki, what's the E.T.A. on that Uber?"

"Four minutes. And it's Nicole."

Ignoring that, Mary turned back to Cadigan. "How do we keep in touch? What's your radio sign, or call sign, or whatever?"